Identity Crisis
by xTie on Wings
Summary: It has been said that key moments in our lives will forever define us, and lead us to the path that will take us to our eventual destination. What happens when you're forced off your path? Will you fight to stay on path or create a new one for yourself?


Summary: It has been said that key moments in our lives will forever define us, and lead us to the path that will take us to our eventual destination. What happens when you're forced off your path? Will you fight to stay on path or create a new one for yourself?

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xTie On Wings  
presents  
Identity Crisis  
A Charmed Fan Fiction Series

{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

Author's Note: This story is inspired by xbballbolin's Identity Chrisis. This is hopefully the first story in the series of fanfics I'm working depending on everyone's interest in the story. Hope you like it and remember to Review, please.

Chapter One:

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."

-T. S. Eliot

_Never before had the motion of inhaling oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide been so strenuous; it was supposed to be mechanical, an event that happened without thought or a conscious effort. But, as ounces of blood he'd lost turned into pints, he knew he wasn't long for this world. Twenty-three years wasted in death, his purpose unfulfilled and mission failed. _

"_Chris," called the voice of Leo Wyatt, reverberating in the dark corners of Chris's mind and offering him a tether to alertness. _

"_Hey," is all Chris could push out within his labored breath. _

_He took in the sight of his father, his Aunt Paige hanging back in the doorway, and relief pounding in his body. At least he wasn't given the most tragic of fates, a lonely death. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as his father dropped down to his knees at his side. _

"_Hey. I'm here now. You can," he paused swallowing the lump in his throat and tried to stay strong and positive for his son. "Hold on, okay? Hold on. Hold on. I'm here. You can hold on, okay? Don't give up, okay?"_

Don't give up.

_If only it was only that simple. As he plead, Chris bled. The tether he'd been given was slipping from his grip and though he tried to hang on, he knew he was a lost cause. Wyatt wasn't though. Not yet. His mission still had a hope because Leo had become someone that Chris could trust._

"_You either," he choked out leaving those words forever the final ones on his lips…_

_Or at least, that's how it was supposed to end…_

Tearing himself from the grips of his nightmare, his body jerked upright. Damp sheets covering his trembling body as sweat dripped from his overheated skin causing the fabric to cling to him. Images of that day still dance across his memory, the vividness of his death reborn in his nightmare eating away at him. A voice of reason echoes in his head and tears away the warm cinnamon hued walls of his parent's bedroom- the warmth of a cozy room oozing rustic charm- and replaces it with the reality of sleek, vast openness of his warehouse home.

Getting a handful of the sheet, Chris pulled it from his lean muscled form and kicked his feet over the edge of his bed. A long, deep breath gets pushed out past slightly parted lips as a shaking hand moves up and runs through his chocolate mane in an attempt to push back matted, sweaty locks from his forehead as questions raged through his mind.

_Why'd this one moment choose to keep creeping into his subconscious and constantly haunt his nightmares?  
Did this moment still hold significance?  
Was this the universes way of telling him he should've stayed dead?_

Feeling as if his bones are composed of lead, he drags his tired body out of bed and across the distance to the bathroom. The feeling of the cool tile beneath his feet and the flip of the light-switch brings him out of his groggy state and to finish waking himself up, he turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on his face. Then his eyes settle on his mirrored image.

No. Not _his_ image.

Not even his reflection was his own anymore. The moment he disappeared, he wound up in front of the Tribunal.

'_You're future wasn't changed but erased therefore you cannot return.'_

'_However, we are grateful for the lengths you've gone through to conceal the usage of magic so you're granted a choice.'_

'_Either you can move onto the afterlife or become a whitelighter.'_

And he chose. Without hesitation he chose. But he should've hesitated. He should've questioned what becoming a whitelighter meant because if he had then he'd of known he'd have to wear this mask because his other face is a wanted man and the face little him would wear in the future, that he'd have to recreate himself before he could help shape others, and- probably the biggest hitch of them all- he could have no contact with the Halliwells.

Hands grip at the edges of the porcelain sink and his head drops down, a heavy mind swirling with the events that led him to where he stood. He lost himself and all the aspects that made him who he was and now he was an empty shell. A hand lifted from the porcelain only to turn into a closed fist and bang back down onto it with frustration evident. His hand lifts and prepares to bash into the porcelain again when he heard a jingling in his head.

_Jingling?_

The elders had spoken saying he wasn't prepared for charges believing that he couldn't help others until he helped himself. Yet letting an innocent in danger go unaided wasn't something Chris Halliwell could do no matter what life he led.

xXx

In the darkest hour before dawn, rugged moto-boots pound the darkened soil covered with wilted leaves, broken branches, and aging roots holding statuesque trunks to the ground feverishly fighting to distance himself from those who wish to cause him and the tiny bundle within his embrace harm. Protective arms shield the tiny cherub against fir-needle branches and other leaves that felt like sandpaper and razors, cutting and stinging deep as he moves faster and deeper into the forest.

In a desperate attempt to give his fatigued body rest, he veers off his path and presses his back against the trunk of a tree praying that the sweet angel in his embrace would stay quiet long enough for this desperate plan to work. Two dark shadows raced hastily through the forest past him desperately wanting to keep up with their bounty and unknowingly passing him by. Carefully, to not jostle the baby boy, the warrior slips his arm out from beneath the baby and brilliant cerulean, so intense in its nature that they seem inhuman, focus in on extended hand desperately trying to muster up enough energy to form a fireball. The moment it ignited in his hand, he rockets off a fireball, followed by another colliding with his targets causing them to explode in a fury of flames.

The brilliant display of orange and yellow hues startled the baby boy who began to fuss and the man holding him slipped down the trunk of the tree, bark boring into his back, as he began cooed comforting words to the baby. "Shh… It's okay buddy. Daddy's got you."

The words replayed in a mantra as he tried to console the fussing infant. Stunning sapphires scan the surrounding forest fearful of what might emerge from the shadows. The entire underworld wanted their pound of flesh, an unyielding hunger to kill him only quenchable by his demise. Hunger… maybe the little guy was hungry. The thought quickly turned to action, his hand flicking and extending to hold the solidifying bottle he conjured. Immediately, the infant latched onto the bottle.

"Atta' boy, Conlin," the relieved father said, the edge of his lips curling up into a smile as he was finally able to take a moment and just be with his son.

Since they jumped the portal from the dark future to the present, it seemed all he'd been doing is running, never really getting a chance to stop and appreciate the reason why he jumped through in the first place. Conlin Bennett Cortez was born from two unlikely lovers that the moral gray areas of the future allowed for, a connection that wouldn't be forged under different circumstances so he was likely to never exist in the new, good future Chris had strived to create… and the father couldn't bear the thought of a world without the infant in his arms, a world where his wasn't changed so vastly for the better.

So engrossed in his son, the sound of branches snapping beneath feet eluded him as a demon drew near…

xXx

In a shower of orbs he appeared cloaked by the thickness of the forest only a few yards from his charges location. Through the thickness of the world around him, he moves, the feeling of his charge's presence drawing him across the terrain. Pushing a stray branch from his way, he peered into the darkness at a ghost of his past resurrected holding in his arms a blue-blanketed bundle of joy. Before he has time to digest the information that'd just presented itself, a nearing figure clad in black and of the demonic persuasion steals his attention.

Pulling the bow from over his shoulder, the questionable whitelighter attached an arrow to the nocking point of the string and pulled his elbow back until his fingers slightly brushed his lips. Green orbs the color of the leaves zeroed in on the approaching threat, then fingers released the sharpened dart from its precarious holding position. Sliding through the air faster than a speeding bullet, the arrow surged until it embedded itself into the demon's chest where its heart should be causing it to erupt in a sea of flames.

xXx

The heat of the flame nipped at his flesh due to the close proximity causing him to turn in his shoulder to protect Conlin from the heat. Immediately, after the heat died, a crooked neck peaked over his shoulder as he scrambled to his feet preparing himself because the odds were it was just another demon clan after the bounty and not an ally coming to his aid. From behind the trunk, the mysterious archer appeared, hands raised to show he was not a threat. Removing the hood from atop his head, showed a sight of a man thought to be dead.

"Christopher," the demonic target breathed the protective grip on his son loosening slightly. It didn't matter that he was sporting an extra 15 pounds of muscle- taking his scrawny self into the peak of physical perfection-, his usual chocolate shaggy locks were chopped off and lighter, or that his green eyes turned to stunning sapphires… no whatever meat suit he shifted into didn't matter. It was an imprint, a distinct impression in his of a warrior that'd seen the hell they'd been delivered into… a haunted impression immortalized within.

A mutual hatred aligned these men in the future… a despise of Wyatt's dictatorship sending them both into the resistance. However in the present, with that possible future impossible, there wasn't a common line anymore and their alliance risked falling apart. Neither man drew their arms for war but stood their ground just the same feeling uneasy and confused. Suddenly, the squirming little boy in Ian's arms squeaks out reminding Chris of the mysterious bundles presence.

"Is he..?" Chris breathes letting his silence speak for itself and finish the question.

Rejecting the normal distrust embedded in his being, Ian dropped his guard taking a few steps across the forest towards the arrow sporting whitelighter. "Chris, this is your nephew… Conlin."

The tiny cherub squealed in his father's arms as his father shifted to let Chris see him. He was beautiful, a ray of hope shining through his otherwise dark existence. Onto his lips crept an involuntary smile as he took in every line, every curve, every feature of the new addition to the clan… his nephew… Melinda's son… Mel? Suddenly his smile was gone, a concern pinching his brows as he asked, "Where's Melinda?"

The simple use of the woman he'd loved so passionately's name is one of the most soul destroying things in the world, a close second to the thought of seeing his son grow up without his mother. Slowly shaking his head back and forth, sickness pounded within his being. The shake of his head spoke volumes crashing into his brother-in-law's chest and ripped the air from his lungs. His baby sister was gone, he'd been ripped form his family… they were all gone… no. not gone. The feelings he felt for ever lost love, every dearly departed, or erased balled up in his chest knocking around and ravishing him from within with nowhere to go. A single tear slipped down his face in response but he said nothing. Knowing the pain Chris was going through, Ian shifted the little boy into Chris's arm.

The moment the bouncing baby boy entered Chris's arms he felt the weight lighten and he realized the same thing that Ian had fueling him to make his great escape… this boy was part of his sister and maybe, just maybe they didn't lose her entirely. Maybe he didn't have to go through this alone. "We need to get you guys somewhere safe."

A branch snapping in the distance drives home the statement he was seconds from voicing, "Take Conlin. I'll be right behind you."

Chris nodded in understanding deciding right then and there it was his job to keep him safe… his job to protect the only family he had left. Nodding affirmatively, Chris disappeared in a shower of orbs leaving Ian to face the demonic dealings of his past.

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